‘Granny Smith.’
She scowled. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘I dunno,’ said Bright Mac, ‘it had a ring to it.’
Twilight was smiling so hard she could burst.
‘And you can be quiet, and all.’
But of course Twilight was right, and Granny Smith she became, and when the bundle of red fur began to squeal in her hooves, she found she didn’t mind it too terribly much.
‘Just don’t you start,’ she warned Twilight, in bed. ‘I ain’t having you calling me that.’
Twilight kissed her, and turned out the light.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’

The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the trees were a-rustling with apples. Wind whispered sweet nothings through branches above, singing songs to their fellows in breeze. Granny Smith wandered through them with care, talking back to the trees--gently when she found a target, sternly when they gave her lip--telling them all the things she remembered. These days would soon be a thing of the past, she knew, could feel inside her bones--ten years, maybe less, maybe more. Ah, well. For now, life was good. It was a bright and a beautiful day.
Granny Smith burst into tears.

Life was good. Was good, was good, was once, was great. So many things done, undone, the effort to count them all up. A life lived in pieces, in parts and in graces, a life loved alive and loved yet aliven't. What a funny old world. Yes, there had been others this way, she wondered to see them all soon, but if they were late she knew she'd be fine. She used to not believe in purple mares. She used to... Going where the one had gone. Except there wasn't one, but many. Family, and Love, and Two...and now One